as much as she loved him
by ToWritePurebloodOnHerArms
Summary: He still lusted after her, even now, as different as they were. (May become more than a oneshot)


_This is rated M just in case I decide to write a few more chapters, that's if I get some lovely reviews! Until then though, it's just a oneshot for now. Mainly about how Voldemort thinks of Bellatrix. May be a little out of character, but certainly not too much! _

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Voldemort looked down upon the sleeping form of his most loyal, his brow creased in thought. Only hours ago had he freed Bellatrix Lestrange and many others from Azkaban. He knew that the years had changed them both, especially as Azkaban rotted the souls of those who were locked away within its stone walls, but he certainly wasn't expecting to still think Bellatrix to be as beautiful as she was when he first met her.

He sat in a plush leather chair next to his large bed, watching as the petite witch slept in a mass of his silk bed sheets. It brought back nostalgic memories of a time long ago where he found her here almost every night.

Bella's chest rose and fell with every breath she took and he couldn't help but look at her. No one was around and she was not awake, not that she'd mind anyway, but he couldn't have her thinking that she was such a distraction from his work, because no matter what his work came before her. Even if he could love her, he thought to himself, his work would come first.

Women were very unusual creatures and he had avoided them at all costs, but somehow, Bellatrix had been completely different. He had met Narcissa first and had rolled his eyes at how obedient and naive she had been towards him and every other man, it annoyed him. Strange as it was. He believed that a woman could be just as strong as a man but he'd yet to meet one who believed in that theory, too.

That's when he'd met Bellatrix. Voldemort smirked at the mere memory. He had been stood by the fireplace in the parlour of Black Manor when Cygnus' eldest daughter had returned from an extended vacation in France. She had walked in, her head held high, and had completely ignored him. The feeling he'd had at being ignored by such a beauty had amused him, normally, he had women falling all over him, but apparenlty Bellatrix was not going to be one of them.

Of course, when they had been introduced, she hadn't bowed nor been polite. Instead, she had challenged him with a quick witted political argument. Bellatrix was educated, far smarter than the Blonde, and she had not been afraid to blunt when it came to him, he knew she would be useful. Very useful. In more ways than the obvious.

Whether he liked it or not, he was a man, and men had needs that only a certain act could fulfill. So, Tom had made it his mission almost to have Bellatrix bow to his every need. She had succumbed to him eventually, but it had taken almost six years and he had often wondered why on earth he had allowed her to twist him for so long.

When he had gotten what he had wanted, he needed her again and again. Which was odd as he had assumed he would of grown bored of her eventually.

He still lusted after her, even now, as different as they were. She still had that air about her that made him want to claim her.

Men still looked at her in the same way that they did back then, but now their lust was laced with sickening anger. Not all of her beauty had rotted in Azkaban, but her soul certainly had. She was far more sadistic, far more passionate when it came to doing anything Voldemort asked of her. She would kill as fast as she would go to bed with him.

Voldemort narrowed his eyes, feeling a slight anger bubbling up inside of him. How dare she make him weak in such a way. He wanted to kill her for it, he wanted to strangle her and watch that passion fade from her dark eyes, but he knew he couldn't do it even if he really wanted to. Like it or not, it wasn't exactly all her fault, that he felt this way towards her. He sighed and rose from his seat, ridding himself of his robes before crawling onto the silks beside her.

Bellatrix wore a white nightdress, and the colour almost made Voldemort laugh out loud, for someone such as her had never suited white. He slid his hand over her shoulder to her neck, brushing dark curls from her skin so he could cup beneath her chin. He squeezed and Bella shifted, her brow furrowing.

He smirked leaning to whisper sick nothings into her ear. Bella awoke at that, her breathing laboured due to how he now squeezed at her neck. He growled against her skin and she shivered.

Yes, he hated Bellatrix for how she made him feel. He hated her so much, and yet, she was just too unpredictable and useful to kill. Besides, she was the only one who was not afraid of him, and he liked that about her. He liked how they still argued about nothing and he wouldn't become angry with her, he liked how she tasted when he kissed her and how his mind went completely blank of all his problems. He liked how she felt beneath him, how her body fitted perfectly against his, but most of all, he secretly liked how much she loved him. It gave him security, and so, as he kissed her, he wished that one day, when Potter had been destroyed and he ruled the Wizarding world as he should, that he'd be able to let her teach him to love her just as much as she loved him.


End file.
